A Series of Unfortunate Arrangements
by purrpickle
Summary: It's the Friday after Rachel's 18th birthday, and her fathers are happy to enforce something that was determined before she was born. But when the plans suddenly change, Rachel and Santana are forced to get closer than they ever, ever wanted to. Pezberry.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I don't own Glee nor the characters within. Okay, seriously, I'm starting to doubt my sanity. Originally this was going to be a Scrap, but then it exploded on me, and honestly, it's way too big to just limit to a one-shot. And no, I have no idea where I get my ideas, and yes, my ideas are getting weirder and weirder. Also, this is barely betaed, and I wrote it pretty much in one sitting in a 'write what comes to mind and don't worry about editing it too much' flow. Who knows how this'll go over?

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><p>"Good morning, honey," Jonathon greeted his daughter as she passed him on her way to the refrigerator.<p>

"Good morning, Dad," Rachel offered pleasantly, throwing him a smile over her shoulder as she rummaged through the various bags of frozen fruit that took up most of the freezer. "How are you?"

Folding and setting his newspaper down, Jonathon watched as his daughter quickly and efficiently prepared her morning fruit and protein powder smoothie. Waiting until she slid into the chair next to him at the breakfast bar, he smiled at her and responded calmly, "I'm doing very well, thank you. But _you_, honey." He leaned forward, eyes starting to twinkle behind his glasses. "How are _you _doing?"

Rachel sipped her smoothie. "I'm sorry," she set the glass down, giving her father a curious expression, "But is there something I'm forgetting about today?"

Her dad gave her a mock insulted look. "Don't you remember what day it is?"

"Dad." Almost rolling her eyes, Rachel smoothly segued the move into an affectionate smile, "If I remembered, I wouldn't have forgotten."

"That's true." Moving his shoulders up and down in a playful shrug, Jonathon sat back in his chair. "Well, when your daddy gets back, we'll be _happy _to explain to you what you are not remembering."

Eying him suspiciously, Rachel finished her smoothie, stood up to fill it with water at the sink, then walked back over to give him a soft kiss on the forehead. "Okay, Dad. I'll start my normal workout routine then, and come back down."

"Great! He should be back by then," Jonathon smiled and waved her off. Picking up his newspaper again, he started aimlessly humming to himself.

Twenty minutes later, when Cory walked into the kitchen, Jonathon immediately knew something was wrong. "Honey?" he hopped off the chair, hurrying over to him, "How did it go?"

Cory rubbed the back of his head, avoiding meeting his husband's gaze. "Well…" he trailed off, "We _might _have a problem."

"Oh no!" Jonathon gasped, reaching up to tug the other man's arm down to get him to look at him, "What happened? Did the Lopezes change their mind? Because we really c_an't _– "

"No, no," Cory cut him off, moving his hands to cup his shoulders, "They didn't change their minds. The plan just… _Mutated_. A little." Seeing a raised eyebrow, he sighed, relenting, "Okay, a lot."

Jonathon glared at him, putting his hands on his hips. "Cory, if you do not start explaining yourself right this instant…" He didn't need to finish the threat.

"Alright! Fine!" Heading over to the seat Jonathon had just vacated, Cory sat down and started running a nervous hand through his hair. Seeing that he was still standing where he had left him, Cory motioned for Jonathon to join him. Waiting until he sat down, he pulled his hands into his own. Then, staring in the general area of the bridge of his husband's nose, he began speaking in a slow, tempered tone, "Hun, Miguel Lopez ran off and got eloped last week."

"_No_!"

"Yes." Cory shook his head, "And they're already expecting a baby – hence the elopement, and you know, we _could _work with that – "

"Damn right," Jonathon muttered.

Cory dropped one of hands to put his finger to Jonathon's lips. "Dear, let me finish," he smiled affectionately, the expression smoothing away some of the lines that had been on his face since he'd left the Lopez household.

Chastised, Jonathon nodded, and Cory took his finger back. "Okay, _yes_, we could work with that, but Jon… They're really in love."

"Ahh, love." Looking down, Jonathon shrugged slightly. Then, looking up, he asked almost desperately, "Isn't there Cesár – ?"

"Who's only thirteen," Cory supplied, as if he'd already expected the question. Seeing his husband's expression, he nodded, "Yes, that wouldn't be fair to either of them."

Jonathon sighed, then got off his chair. Moving over, he turned around, and with his help, he settled into Cory's lap. Leaning back into him, he managed to crack a smile when strong arms settled around his waist and Cory set his chin down next to his cheek. "So…" he asked quietly, "What are we going to do?"

Cory drew in a deep breath, squeezing Jonathon tightly as he did so. "Well… Remember how I told you the plan _mutated_?"

"Yes…?"

"Well." Cory cleared his throat, mumbling into Jonathon's ear, "The Lopezes have another child."

Jonathon frowned.

"Who's of age."

Jonathon's frown didn't ease.

"Rachel's age, to be exact."

Still nothing.

"Rachel's _classmate_, even."

"Cor, I'm _really _not understanding – "

Cory groaned, cutting him off. "Jon, don't make me say it. _Think_. A Lopez child. Rachel's age, goes to Rachel's school. And _no_, it's not someone you've never heard of."

Jonathon huffed, turning his head to glare at his husband as best as he could. "Why wouldn't you want to say who – " He blinked. "Please don't tell me you're talking about _Santana _Lopez," he hissed almost pleadingly, his hands flying up to wrap around Cory's.

Cory's sigh tickled the back of his neck and blew across his cheek. He nodded into Jonathon's shoulder.

Jonathon stared down at his legs. "And the Lopezes would allow that?"

Cory nodded again.

"But we couldn't _do _that to Rachel."

"We w_ere _going to stick her with Miguel, who I'm pretty sure she's never even _met_," Cory pointed out, "At least she knows Santana."

"But Santana has done nothing but torment Rachel her whole life, pretty much!" Jonathon responded angrily, his body going stiff in Cory's embrace.

"I know." Cory sighed again, waiting patiently for his husband to relax, "And we don't even know what Rachel would think about it. I know we raised her with an open and accepting heart, but I've never once seen her give _any _indication that she might feel more for the females of our species."

"Of course, we were just going to thrust her and Miguel together, which, if you think about it, could be the same way…" Jonathon trailed off, his voice subdued. "Honey?"

Cory shifted so he could hold Jonathon a little bit more comfortably, "Yeah?"

"All these years _we've _known about this, and, you know, we have to accept it, but have you and I _ever_, really, thought about Rachel?"

Cory made a small 'mmm' noise, and Jonathon could feel him grip him a little more securely for a second.

"When I was talking to her this morning, she'd even forgotten about it."

"Well, we did stop talking to her about it when she entered high school. She probably assumed that when we didn't put up a fuss about Jesse or Finn or any of the other boys she's dated, that it wasn't happening."

Jonathon nodded. "At this point, I'm not sure if that was a good idea or not. It's really only luck that she's single now, which is good for us, but…"

"I know."

"Should we have told her it was going to be the Lopezes?"

"Why?"

"I don't know…" Sighing, Jonathon rolled his head back, turning a little so he could slip his own arm around Cory's shoulders. "Do you think if the Lopezes had told Santana, she wouldn't have been tormenting Rachel this whole time?"

Cory quirked a small grin. "I can kind of see that being the opposite, truthfully. Though I don't know Santana, I know her parents."

Jonathon let out a small giggle, leaning forward to kiss Cory gently. "So it's Santana?" he asked as he drew away.

Cory slipped his hands down to rest on Jonathon's hip. "It's Santana."

"She single?"

"Maria says she is."

Jonathon closed his eyes and shook his head. "So it's Santana."

"Santana what?" Rachel chirped as she cheerfully entered the kitchen, her hair still damp from her shower. Smiling at the two men, she walked to the other side of the bar. Resting on her elbows, she tilted her head. "Good morning, Daddy. Dad informed me that I was forgetting something about today? I hope I am not, as normally I remember nearly _everything_. Though I don't have photographic memory, I have added mental exercises to my routine lately to combat the strain schooling has – " the expressions on her fathers' faces told her that she was talking too much again, and she grinned, dropping her head and shaking it, "Okay, I'm sorry. Does hearing you two mention Santana's name have anything to do with what I'm… Not remembering at this time?"

Jonathon and Cory exchanged glances. Dropping his shoulders and reclaiming his arm, Jonathon hopped down from his perch on Cory's lap. Straightening his clothing, he walked around the bar to pull Rachel into a hug; Cory followed a couple of seconds later, sweeping the two smaller members of his family into his arms and turning the hug into a bear hug.

"Dad? Daddy?" Rachel asked, her smile barely slipping as she looked between them with a burgeoning confused look on her face.

Jonathon sucked in a deep breath. "Well, honey, I know I was almost giggling in a _very _'unmanly' way earlier," Rachel and Cory smiled at each other, nodding, and Jonathon made a face at them for a couple of seconds before shifting back into his nervous/serious expression, "And though what I have to tell you isn't _exactly _what I was going to earlier, I'm still…" He tried to smile, but failed, "Sort of… Okay, not so much excited as I was, but there's nothing I can do about it now."

"Okay, that's my cue to butt in." Squeezing his husband's shoulder supportively, Cory waited until Rachel met his gaze. "Rachel… Baby girl… Remember what we told you all the while you were growing up?"

Rachel blinked. "You two told me a lot of valuable things as I grew up, which I'm thankful for." She shifted her weight onto her heels and loosely crossed her arms, "Could you please be a bit more specific…?"

Cory rubbed the back of his neck again. "Honey… The 'the next Friday after your eighteenth birthday you're getting engaged' thing?"

Rachel's face went blank. "Excuse me?"

"Arranged marriage," Jonathon nodded.

His daughter's mouth dropped open, and color started blooming on her cheeks. But before she could erupt, Cory swallowed, deciding to martyr himself. He met the quickly roaring burning of Rachel's eyes, "To Santana Lopez."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Blergh, not as easy to write as the first chapter. Still, it advances.

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><p>For the first time in her life, Rachel Berry found herself missing a day of school. Though, standing on the Lopez' front porch, flanked by her fathers and annoyed out of her mind, Rachel found she preferred not having to face <em>anyone <em>she knew until this whole… Ridiculous, asinine, antiquated, absurd, _impossible to believe_ situation was dealt with and dissolved. Promptly.

Her dad sighed, shuffling on his feet a little, and he nervously reached out to put his hand on her shoulder; Rachel smoothly shrugged it off, and he sighed again.

"Dear," Cory started, and Rachel gave him the most betrayed glare she could muster up, and he actually recoiled.

"Dad. Daddy." Rachel turned back to the door, "I am here under duress. I am here only to _turn down _this _horrific_ impingement not only to my personal affairs, but to my _civil_ rights as well. I am eighteen, therefore capable of autonomy, and _highly _capable of deciding who and who I shall not marry!"

As her words echoed in the morning air, confident footsteps approached from inside, and the front door swung open. "I _thought _I heard the sounds of your squawking, Berry," Santana gave Rachel an unimpressed stare, cool eyes surveying the two men on either side of her. She crossed her arms, "Are you guys Jehovah Witnessing or something? 'Cuz I really don't see any other reason why you be at my door."

Cory sighed, Jonathon made a 'harrumph' noise, and Rachel eyeballed Santana as if she was crazy. Santana… Didn't know? "Two of us are Jewish, Santana, and my daddy is Catholic."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Semantics." She leaned against the doorframe, looking down and tapping her finger against the wood. "So," she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head back up, "Again. What are you _doing _here, Berry and Father Berrys?"

"¡_Santí_!" an admonishing voice cut through from behind the girl, and Santana sighed, rolling her eyes. She craned her head around. "¿Sí, Mamí?"

"Move out of the way and show our guests in."

"Guests?" Santana muttered, then grudgingly took a step back, pushing the door open further. As Rachel walked past her, Santana watched her with an accusatory expression on her face. "But it's almost 8:00 – do you _want _me to be late for school?" she called back to her mother.

Rachel gave Santana a disgruntled expression of her own. "_Believe_ me, Santana, I don't want to be here just as much as you don't _want _me here."

Stepping into a large foyer, homey and with nice colors, Rachel could hear her dad whispering furiously to her daddy about how horrible and unsuitable Santana was. Rachel gritted her teeth, willing herself to save all of her anger for when she found out just what the heck was going on, and, more importantly, _why_. Her fathers had refused to say anything more, telling her she'd find out in due time.

Due time? Rachel had _never _taken her fathers seriously about the whole 'engagement thing' growing up because, hello? Common sense? There shouldn't even _be _a due time!

Santana's mother appeared from the door that probably led to the living room. Her face looked tight, and the gaze she swept over Rachel could have almost been apologetic. Except, instead of saying something helpful, she turned to her daughter. "You're not going to school today."

Santana blinked. "What?"

"Good morning, Jonathon, and you too, Cory." A faint smile curled on her lips as Maria Lopez smoothly ignored her, "For the second time today. And nice to see you again, Rachel."

Rachel shook her head, the anger vibrating through her body finally bubbling over. "_No_, it is _not _nice to see you," she threw up her hand to point at the older woman, stomping forwards, "I _cannot _believe you would perpetrate this – this _sham _of an idea!"

"Hey! Man Hands!" Snarling, Santana shoved herself in between her mother and Rachel, "You do _not _talk to my mother like that!"

"I highly doubt you will be defending her come soon enough!" Rachel snapped back, but took a step away. Stiffly inclining her head at Maria, she managed stiltedly, "I apologize for the very brusque way I attacked you. I do not, however, take back the sentiment of what I said; just the way in which it was said."

A resigned shadow passed over Maria's face, and she nodded. "I am actually surprised at your level of restraint. I know this situation must be very stressful for you." A tiny smile flickered, "As it is for us, I assure you." Turning, she spoke over her shoulder, "Santí, go fetch your father from his study, then join us in the living room."

"No, no, hold up just a f – damn second!" Glaring at her mother, then at Rachel, and making a face at Cory and Jonathon as they stared back at her, she scowled deeply, crossing her arms, "Mamí, what the hell is going on?"

Sighing, Maria pushed a lock of hair behind Santana's ear. She mustered a smile, softening her voice, "Mija, go get Papí. You'll find out soon enough."

Rachel avoided looking at Santana as she looked over at her again, frowning down at her own crossed arms so the other girl couldn't see the rising panic in her eyes. Letting out an almost audible sigh of relief when Santana stomped away, making one last snide comment about hiding their gold while she was it, Rachel dramatically raised her head, tossing her hair. "Well?" she bit out, "Are you going to lead us to your living room?"

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><p>From where she was sitting rigidly on one end of a loveseat, uncomfortably aware the other end was left open for, most likely, Santana, Rachel clutched at her tea cup, glaring into it. Getting angry at her fathers was getting tiring, and even though she didn't appreciate Santana's parents' side of the whole thing, it still felt <em>wrong <em>to attack them before she fully got answers and decided how worthy of her ire they were, her yelling at Maria Lopez notwithstanding.

"Hey," a deep voice offered genially as a long body settled down next to her.

Looking up, Rachel recognized that the young man next to her was most likely her ex-intended, Miguel. She frowned at him, eyebrows drawing close over her nose. "Good morning," she managed, somewhat free of the emotions simmering just underneath everything she said.

Miguel studied her, lips pursed, the quirk of his eyebrows really making the resemblance to his sister apparent. "So you're her."

"I suppose," Rachel's jaw clenched, "If you are referring to the 'her' that is here entirely against her will."

Miguel nodded. "I understand. Still, this should be interesting. I almost regret taking myself out of this arrangement." He offered her a slight smile. As Santana and her father entered the room, he looked at them and stood up, leaning down to whisper, "Though, watching the fireworks between you and Sannie shall be _highly _interesting." Smirking obnoxiously, he walked over to take one of the seats next to his mother.

Rachel clenched her eyes shut, breathing deeply through her nose to calm herself down. Was Santana's whole family so… _Unconcerned_? Flippant? From first impression, Miguel didn't make much of a positive impact, and she found herself thinking it was almost a _blessing _he was no longer in the equation.

Blinking her eyes open and seeing Santana stalking towards her with an expression on her face that no doubt mirrored Rachel's, she set her tea cup down. As she sat back, her gaze met Miguel's; when he realized Rachel was looking back at him, he nodded at her, the smirk replaced by a surprisingly guilty and pitying smile. She broke their gaze.

Santana sat down as far away from Rachel as she could. "Alright," she demanded, "Seriously. What the hell is going _on_?"

"Yes please," Rachel followed, her quiet voice cutting through the room with its backbone of steel, "I would appreciate getting some answers as well." She glanced at Santana, then firmed her chin and turned to the assembled Berry and Lopez adults, "Because, honestly, I am _astounded _at the level of sheer lunacy needed to justify this, this… Utter disregard of everything _sane _that is your contention that Santana and I are to be wed!"

"**_WHAT?_**"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I really can't vouch for the quality of this chapter. Yes, yes, I know that it's annoying when authors say that, but it's how I really feel about this chapter. At least, by its design, it's really only a set-up/filler chapter.

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><p>Santana paced back and forth, vibrating with rage. Spitfire Spanish left her mouth, her voice loud and sharp and furious. Unable to do anything but sit on the bed and watch her, Rachel felt happy that for once it wasn't <em>her <em>who was on the end of Santana's attack. In fact, as fascinated as she was seeing the fire directed at someone else, she also found herself actually _supporting _the girl's tantrum.

The fact she could only understand every third word probably helped some.

However. Standing up, Rachel walked over to the double doors that led out to the balcony.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going outside," Rachel answered over her shoulder, "Get some fresh air." At Santana's annoyed noise, Rachel sighed, unlatching the doors, "I'd invite you to join me, but I'm not too sure I'd like your company right now. Even though you aren't yelling at _me_. In fact, I think I might take this time to reflect over what has transpired, hopefully come up with a solution while in deep concentration."

Santana waved her off with an angry flick of her wrist. "You do that. I'm going to raid the mini-bar and check out room service. If you come up with anything, I give you permission to talk to me. But _only _if you come up with something. That is not an invitation to assume I want to talk to you, got it? Because if you do, _don't_."

Pausing, frowning at the half-open door, Rachel sighed and shook her head. "Thank you," she retorted dryly, "Now, excuse me." Slipping out into the warm air, she couldn't help her instant hum at the fact that their balcony not only faced the ocean, but also had a nice amount of sun shining onto it. If anything, she thought ruefully, she could work on her tan.

Settling into the chair that would afford her the best view, as well as be not too hot, Rachel allowed herself a moment to soak it all in. It wasn't very often she got to see the ocean, and even if the _reason _she was there to see it was ridiculous, she wasn't going to allow that to make _everything_ insufferable.

…Except everything _was _ridiculous! Rachel and Santana and their families flown off to The Bahamas for the week – missing school, even though she'd argued long and hard about that. Rachel and Santana forced to share a room for the week – even though they'd probably end up killing each other – not to mention their mortification when it turned out there was _only one bed_. Rachel and Santana expected to get along – something they couldn't do on the best of days.

And last but not least, Rachel and Santana to be wed.

Oh, the both of them had argued long and hard with their families, but no one would give. No one would listen, and no one would explain why. It just was because it was, and there was no use fighting against it. She and Santana were to be wed, and it seemed only sheer stubbornness could be the thing to keep it at bay until something could be found to right everything in the world again. Stubbornness that, thankfully, she and Santana had an almost endless supply of between them.

A sweet sea-smelling gust of wind blew her hair into her face, and she detached the scrunchie from around her wrist to pull as much of her hair up into a ponytail as she could. Another gust of wind, and the smell of ocean and sand and something completely-not-Ohio brought an unbidden smile to her face.

Maybe this would be a good place to relax and work on her songwriting. Even if she couldn't bring herself to glee, she could bring glee to herself.

Oh. Bringing her phone out of her pocket, Rachel chewed on her lower lip as she debated what and if she should tell someone about what was going on. She'd managed to get a quick text out to Mercedes, Kurt, Tina, and Puck before she was ushered off to the airport, but all it had said was that she was taking an emergency trip with her family. Each of her friends had responded with some variation of '_what's up? is everything okay?_', but she really had no idea what to say. The truth? Some bastardization of the truth? An outright lie? Make it so they didn't connect Santana's absence with hers? Or purposefully combine them?

Turning her face to the sun, she made up her mind.

Just as she was putting the finishing touches to her group text of _Made it to the hotel, and just getting settled in. We have a balcony that faces the ocean, so I'm definitely going to take advantage of it! I should be back by the Monday after next, but I'll have my phone with me. No calls (too expensive, sadly), but texting's fine. I'll miss you guys. Imagine me at glee and don't slack off!_, the balcony doors opened, Santana walking through with a bottle of Coca-Cola in her hand. Surveying the area and view quickly, she claimed the chair the farthest from Rachel. Sending her text, Rachel sighed. So much for her alone time.

Santana popped the top off of the glass bottle, putting the cap and bottle-opener onto the table that separated her from Rachel. "So," she started, taking a sip and keeping her gaze on the ocean, "Come up with anything?"

"No." Rachel shook her head. "You're done ranting?"

The corner of Santana's mouth quirked up. "Doesn't really do anything if the people or persons you're yelling at aren't there to hear it. You're not off the hook yourself, though, you know."

"What? _Me_?" Gasping, Rachel snapped her head over to stare at Santana. "How is this _my _fault?"

Santana tilted her head to meet Rachel's eyes. "Because," she stated as fact, "It always turns out to be your fault."

Of course. The girl had said as such before. "At least I haven't raided the mini-bar," Rachel tossed her hair.

"Does this look like alcohol to you?" Santana raised her Coke, "Because if it does, you are one sheltered little J.A.P." She took a deep swig. "Mmm, it burns so _good_. But is it carbonation or alcohol? However will you know?" She snorted. "No, don't worry. You won't have to deal with an awesomely drunken me just yet. Mamí called to tell me we were going out to lunch soon. I figured I'd get shit-faced then and make _them_ pay for it."

Rachel didn't know if she found that amusing or coarse. "When did she say?" She checked her watch; no matter she wasn't happy with any of the people she was going to dine with, she had the manners to keep her from declining in spite.

"About an hour from now." Standing up, Santana walked over to the railing. "_Jesus_," she swore angrily, "I can't even _enjoy _this view because of all the shit that's going on! I mean," she stared at Rachel before turning back to the ocean, the wind blowing her hair back in accent to her words, "I'm in The Bahamas. The Bahamas! It's the ocean and the sun and tanning and the sexy and I should be able to fully take advantage of it, but I can't. And it's all because of you."

That was a short tentative truce. Rachel stood up. "Neither can I," she retorted, "Because of _you_." Stomping over to the door to the hotel room, she offered a stiff, "I'm using the bathroom first," Not waiting for a response, she slipped inside.

As she rifled through the clothes she'd placed into the closet earlier, her phone signaled her that she had two new text messages. Waiting until after she'd closed and locked the bathroom door behind her and started the water to heat it up, Rachel decided to open Tina's message first. _a balcony and the OCEAN? jealous! where are u? _

Well, that was innocent enough. She clicked on Puck's next. _uhhh… r u in the bahamas w/ san?_

Not even the hot water of the shower could wash away the utter anxiety Rachel felt at trying to figure out how to answer him.


	4. Chapter 4

Barely waiting for the hair dryer to finish drying her hair, Rachel stomped out of the bathroom. Spotting Santana lying on the bed, she zeroed in on her. "You told Puck you were in _The Bahamas_?" she demanded.

Santana snapped up. "What the _hell_?" she glared at Rachel, "How is that any of your business?"

"Because _I_ can't tell him that I'm in The Bahamas anymore!"

Smoothly sliding off the bed, Santana pushed past her. "Boo hoo," she taunted, scooping up a pile of clothes off the dresser and sauntering towards the bathroom. She paused right outside, "Not my problem," and slammed the door behind her.

What an _insufferable_…!

Letting out a frustrated noise, Rachel plopped down onto the bed. Great. What now? Lie to Puck and make up a random vacationing place? Lie to Puck and say something like, 'oh, I'm in The Bahamas, but Santana is _too_?' Tell the truth? _No_. Even if she prided herself on being truthful, Rachel couldn't tell _anyone _what was going on. Good thing she hadn't told Tina where she was. However…

Pulling her phone from her pocket, Rachel pulled up Puck's text thread. She read over his text again. _uhhh… r u the bahamas w/ san? _

_Thank _you, Santana, she thought darkly. How was she supposed to respond to _that_? Thinking for a second, she decided to stall for time. _Santana's in The Bahamas?_

Done with that, Rachel sighed, looking around the room. What was she supposed to do now? Was there anything for her to busy herself with?

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><p>It hadn't taken her very long to realize she didn't need to stay and wait for Santana to get finished with her shower. Contemplating leaving a note but discarding the idea, Rachel scooped up her shoulder bag and the extra room key before letting herself out of the hotel room. Phone still quiet without Puck's text, she sent a quick, terse text to her dad. <em>Where are we having lunch?<em>

Her father's answer wasn't even a minute later. _Five minute walk from the hotel. Ocean to your left. The Yellow Elder._

_Thank you._

Closing her phone, Rachel replaced it into her pocket and settled against the railing of the elevator. She sighed, then ran a hand through her hair, glaring at the wall opposite her. Regardless of Santana's penchant for using not-so-nice, abrasive and equally insulting words, Rachel had to agree with her: it was hard even anticipating enjoying The Bahamas… This trip.

Honestly, _what _were her fathers and the Lopezes hoping to achieve by this trip? Not only had it come out of _nowhere_, but really? Assuming that she and Santana would… _Associate_ with each other over the course of a week?

Rachel supported gay marriage. It would be ridiculous if she didn't. And though she'd never _concretely_ written it out of her life for herself, nothing aside from unconscious appreciation had ever passed through her mind when she thought of other females. And that wasn't even factoring in Santana's view. It didn't matter that Santana _was _a lesbian. That didn't mean she would automatically be attracted to Rachel – in fact, that thought actually made a painful laugh rumble up through Rachel's chest.

Why were Rachel's fathers _punishing _her? Yes, Rachel had grown up under the assumption she was to be wed (which then faded into the background as childhood fairy tales of princes and destined romances with her husband-to-be turned into teenage realities of hormones and a doomed-to-be romance with the high school quarterback), but it never was supposed to _happen_.

The dinging of the elevator interrupted her thoughts, and she pushed herself up, neatening her appearance before the doors could open. No matter where her mind was, Rachel always made sure she looked presentable. Returning the smile from the hotel employee that stood near the elevator alcove, she turned towards the main doors and strode determinedly until she was out in the warm sunshine. Pausing to fish her sunglasses out of her bag, she slipped them on, turned so the ocean was on her left, and walked towards a lunch she was certainly dreading.

* * *

><p>The Yellow Elder was a very nice looking restaurant. At least from the outside, Rachel thought, staring at it petulantly. It would be so easy to walk away… Yes, her fathers had taken away her passport, but there was sure to be an American Embassy <em>somewhere <em>that could arrange passage back to the United States for her. That would serve her fathers right.

But that didn't sit well with her. Grimacing, Rachel tightened her grip on the strap of her shoulder bag, cursing, for once, her iron cage of morality.

"Wow, you must be the slowest walker _ever_, or you've been staring like an idiot for the past ten minutes; guess which one I believe?" Santana's voice spoke up from her right, and Rachel sighed, turning her glare onto the other girl. Instantly, she regretted it. Now wearing a skintight tank top over what was obviously a bikini top and sarong tied around her waist, which was almost essentially her _own _outfit, Santana looked incredibly suited for the tropical Bahamas weather – better than Rachel did. And, somehow, she already had a nice tan, which made Rachel feel even worse about her own tan-less skin; sure, she had normally darker colored skin, but Lima never really got warm enough to tan _naturally_, and tanning artificially had too many health risks that Rachel would _never _go into one on her own volition. Rachel sighed; she was going to burn, wasn't she?

Instead of answering, Rachel turned back towards the restaurant, swept her hair up into a quick, make-shift bun, and walked towards the door. Opening it, she half-heartedly held it open for the girl after her, and scanned the tables for their parents.

Not surprisingly, the table the Berry men and the Lopezes had picked was not only outside, but obviously the _main _table. And, Rachel almost rolled her eyes violently, the only open seats were right next to each other.

"Jesus Christ," Santana muttered, and she stopped, crossing her arms. "_No_." She challenged verbally, "I am _not _sitting next to her."

Carlos, who had risen to ostensibly pull their chairs out for them, sighed. "Santí, just sit."

"¡_No_!" And Santana fell into spitfire Spanish again. Giving the father and daughter a wide berth, Rachel inched around until she was pressed up against the railing, hugging her bag to her chest. Even though it was needlessly violent, Santana Lopez had certainly molded her angry outbursts into a dramatic, fascinating art form. Watching Carlos, she could see where some of her proud anger came from.

Maria, who had one hand to her face, was shaking her head, Cory and Jonathon both looking off into space with uncomfortable expressions on their faces; it seemed Rachel and some of the other patrons were the only ones wanting to watch the spectacle. But when Santana started to give off the tell that she was about to lunge forward or stomp off, Rachel decided enough was enough. At the first pause between father and daughter, Rachel barged in, "_Santana_."

"_What_?" Santana snapped, turning her glare on Rachel, "Want to take over _this_, too?"

Rachel barely managed to keep back a snapped retort of her own. "No, Santana," she offered through a fake smile and clenched teeth, "I'm just putting before you the motion that if you are to sit _next _to me, you won't have to be forced to _look _at me."

Santana crossed her arms. "Fine," she finally turned her burning gaze away and pushed past Rachel to drop into her seat, "Maybe then I'll actually be able to stomach some food without your freaky dwarvish looks taking my appetite away."

All four of the adults looked like they were about to make some sort of admonishment, but Rachel held up her finger and shook her head, staring determinedly at Carlos until he sat down as well. Taking her own seat, Rachel stashed her bag under her chair, picked up her menu, and barely had time to stop herself from knocking over her glass of water when Santana thrust her hand up into the air, snapped her fingers, and yelled out, "'Ey, wait staff! If I don't get a margarita in the next minute, I'm gonna sue this restaurant for ownership and the right to fire your asses. Got me?"

"…And you wonder why the rest of the world hates Americans," Jonathon muttered audibly.

Santana glared at him. "Says the man who's wearing a freakin' 1980s Magnum, P.I. of an eyesore Hawaiian shirt like it never went out of style. Having fun there, Magnum?"

Despite herself, Rachel had to stifle a giggle behind her hand – her father looked _nothing _like Tom Selleck, especially with his balding head.

But Maria wasn't having any of it. "Santí, shut up and stop picking on Mr. Berry. Look, your drink's here. Busy yourself with that."

Giving her mother a flippantly disrespectful salute and darkly smiling at Rachel's dad and the waiter (which Rachel gave a real, apologetic smile to), Santana pulled her newly arrived margarita towards herself. "Best idea I've heard all week," she quipped, barely giving herself time to stir the drink before taking a big, long sip. Smacking her lips, she set it down, then asked, "They have breadsticks here?"

Rachel rolled her eyes and pulled her menu back up. "Nothing if not consistent," she whispered to herself, giving Santana an innocent smile when she looked at her.

Awkward silence rose up again. Her eyes fixed on the menu as she obsessively read over every dish and word, no matter if it was a vegan option or not, Rachel was aware of Santana every so often taking a sip of her margarita as she flipped through her own menu. Carlos and Maria were mostly quiet, as were her fathers; the four adults had already had ample time to figure out what they were getting. Beyond the circle of their table, various bird calls, lapping of ocean against the shore, and the muted voices of surrounding diners provided a calming ambience. The sun was warm on her shoulders, and the light wind that played with the ends of her loose strands of hair was a nice sort of tickle.

Finally, deciding on a simple vegetable sauté-like dish, Rachel closed her menu and set it down, resting her forearms lazily on the table top until she remembered she _wasn't _actually interested in engaging in conversation with anyone at the table currently, and leaned back in her chair, her hands heavy on her thighs.

For her part, Santana had one elbow on the table, her chin settled into the palm of her hand as her other idly stirred her drink. She was completely concentrated on the exciting event, and Rachel found herself watching the straw's movements as well.

It was kind of ironic that the one she felt the closest to at the moment was the one who didn't want to be here just as much as she didn't want to be. Especially when that 'closest' worked the most when they were ignoring each other.

"So… Girls…" Cory cleared his throat, flinching back from the two unamused stares he got, "I bet you're wondering what kind of schedule we've planned for this trip."

"Shoot me now," Santana muttered, and Rachel crossed her arms, raising her chin as she continued staring, unblinking, at her daddy.

"Let me guess," Santana continued, taking a deep breath and straightening her posture, tapping one of her fingernails on the table, "Too much of it will be activities designed _specifically _for keeping me and the smurf together for as long as humanly possible. We will be watched constantly and encouraged to _grow our relationship_." She curled her lip back, "Yeah, nice touch with the single bed. Glad to know you have no problems _whoring _your own daughters out." Then, holding up one hand, she shook her head and sat back heavily in her seat, adopting Rachel's crossed arms and firmed chin, "Because we all know what this basically is. And it's _bullshit_." She slanted her eyes over to glance at Rachel and slid her gaze around to glare at each adult intensely before finishing with, "So. What? I may not like the Jewish leprechaun, and I'm sure as _fuck_ not attracted to her, but ignoring that and ignoring the fact that everything points to her being the straightest of straight _imaginable _– hell, I bet she barely even knows what her _own _body looks like versus what other girls' look like, what with what she wears on a daily basis; though, you know, you're not looking so bad right now, rockin' my look," (Rachel mouthed a silent, 'thank you,' and Santana nodded) "Even if that _is _my look, fricken' copy-cat – " (Rachel frowned at her, and the corners of Santana's mouth quirked up into a smirk for just a second) "You guys are in for a _very fucking large _reality check. Me and Rachel? Ain't gonna happen. Let me repeat that: _Ain't. Gonna. Happen_. Period. End of discussion."

She tossed her hair and picked up her drink again, smirking obnoxiously as she pulled the straw up to her lips, "However, I thank you in advance for the shitload of money you's gonna spend on me."

Rachel smirked as well, shaking her head. Sometimes… Sometimes Santana pleasantly surprised her.

But it was her turn to say something, and she knew she had to hurry before any of their parents shook off their shocked silence. She took a deep breath. "If I may add on to that thought?" she asked Santana, who graciously gave her the go ahead, "Dad. Daddy. Mr. and Mrs. Lopez." She met each adult's gaze confidently, giving her fathers slightly longer pointed glares, "Aside from all the… _Extra_ Santana put into that speech, you should know I am in full accord. While I still protest my presence here, I will be joining Santana in enjoying whatever amenities you shall be providing. As I'm sure, dear parents, that taking away any and all incentives you had originally scheduled would only make your hoped outcome less. Likely. Than. _Ever_ to happen."

She paused, then smiled brightly, "Now that that's out of the way, why don't we get that waiter Santana antagonized's attention and order our lunches?"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **More of a filler chapter, but it sets some things in motion. Oh, and note about the parents' names: I started writing this when none of the parents were officially named, and I'm not going to bother to change them now. So I'm still going to use Cory for Leroy, Jonathon for Hiram, and Maria for Maribel. Also, I am now aware that Rachel's _real _birthday is in the latter part of her grade, so just pretend she shouldn't actually be seventeen. XD

* * *

><p>Rachel never wanted to be part of another lunch like that one ever again. After her and Santana's announcement, their parents had spent the next ten minutes pretending like it hadn't happened. Sure, it was barely civil in the beginning, their voices ringing with false brevity, but eventually, as the food came and they all dug in, Santana receiving her second margarita, it had almost become a game for the older adults: no matter how many glares or eye rolls or scowls or outright apathy they encountered, they continued on with their unwavering optimism.<p>

The message was clear: like it or not, Rachel and Santana were _going_ to spend their vacation together. If they wanted to have any hope of 'enjoying' their stay in the Bahamas, they _had_ to do it together. Together, or trapped in their hotel room with adult supervision at all times, television blocked and phones taken away. It was disgusting at how intensively it was all thought out.

Not to mention at how disgustingly _insane _it was. She and Santana were _eighteen_. They were _legal adults_. Why weren't they _listening _to them? To _logic_? _Common sense_? _Decency_?

Santana summed it all up when they were in the bathroom, touching up their makeup before the first activity of their trip started, "This is fucked up."

Rachel took out her bottle of sunscreen. "It is screwed up, yes."

Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes. She pointed her mascara applicator at Rachel. "No. You can say it. It's… _Fucked_… Up. Fuuuuuh-uuuuuh-cked. Fucked."

"Nice," Rachel grimaced, squeezing some sunscreen into her palm and starting to rub it into her face; it wasn't fair _she _had to do this and Santana didn't, "But I'm not going to say it."

"Weak." Santana shook her head. "You're weak. When are you going to step into the _real _world?"

Squinting into the mirror as she applied sunscreen to her nose, Rachel frowned as best as she could. "Well, it's a good thing you're not responsible for my '_real_ life'. You'd probably insist I either become a mime or start running around in bare feet going on and on about an all powerful ring."

Santana chuckled, lowering her lip gloss to give her a smirk. "You forgot 'infantile giant babysitter'."

"Right." Rachel made a face, "Giant babysitter." She sighed, turning back and forth to make sure she'd covered her arms and chest. She still needed her back, but she was still too angry at her fathers to ask them to do it. Ugh. Well, better to try and get rebuffed than not try and not know if she was going to get rebuffed. Maybe. "Santana?" she asked neutrally.

"Yes, Smurfette?"

Here goes nothing. "Can you please put sunscreen on my back?"

Pausing, Santana frowned, eyebrows furrowing on her brow. "Excuse me?"

Rachel raised her chin. "Sunscreen? On my back?" When Santana continued staring at her with her lips pursed, Rachel threw up her hands, barely managing not to splatter the sunscreen around, "Fine! But do you _really_ want to be embarrassed being seen with me as red as a lobster? _And_." She pointed at Santana, pushing her hair behind her ear, "_You're_ the one going to have to listen to my moans and complaints for the rest of the trip. Which, I might add, I've perfected quite well."

"You fu – "

"Continue that word and I'll throw in obnoxious smelling aloe alternatives."

Santana groaned, eyes rolling up. "You are _extremely_ annoying. Fine. Give me the damn sunscreen." She put her hand out, wiggling her fingers impatiently.

Grinning triumphantly, Rachel handed her the tube, turning around and pulling her newly put up ponytail around to her front. "Make sure to get under the straps, too – "

"I _know _my lotion etiquette," Santana interrupted her.

Shuffling her shoulders, Rachel pulled her lower lip into her mouth, slanting her eyes back as if she could see through her head. Where was Santana going to start? No. This wasn't awkward at _all_…

Santana's hands suddenly plopped onto Rachel's shoulders, the cold of the sunscreen on her palms making Rachel shiver. "You know," Santana commented with reluctant amusement, fingers sliding perfunctorily over Rachel's upper shoulder blades, pushing under her tank top and bikini halter top straps, "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me in support of this crazy-ass scheme."

"Right," Rachel shook her head, back relaxing as Santana's hands began warming up, "How romantic – a restaurant bathroom."

Santana shrugged, voice disdainful. "I've had worse. At Puck's 15th birthday party, we snuck into the Lima Stadium's food court's backroom. Imagine, having sex between burlap sacks of popcorn seeds and bags of soda lids. You can _imagine _the 'fun' indents that left on my ass."

That sounded… Enjoyable? "Puck's always been a font of romance," Rachel offered, shivering again when Santana's breath suddenly blew across the back of her neck as she leaned in to ask, "You gonna be taking the tank off at any point?"

Frowning and a little confused at the question, Rachel stepped away, saying curtly, "If I am, I'll ask you then."

Santana scowled at her. "Jeez, chill. It's not like I _want _to see you half-clothed," she turned to wash her hands in the sink, "Oh, and yeah, I was finished. If you were _wondering_."

Rotating her shoulders as the sunscreen dried in the cool air of the room, Rachel looked at herself in the mirror. Deciding she looked presentable, she nodded her head, offered Santana a short, sufficient thank you, scooped the sunscreen off of the sink and strode out.

Hopefully the warmth of the sun would make the annoying lingering coolness go away quickly.

* * *

><p>"She was in there for a while," Cory leaned over, whispering into his husband's ear. "And Santana's still in there."<p>

"So like a, 'wait five minutes thing'?" Jonathon frowned, "I can't say if I'm happy about that or not. Can't they just get married _without_… You know."

"I can _hear _you." Rachel glared at her fathers. Sipping the last of her water, she shook her head and set the glass down, "And she just put sunscreen on my back."

Carlos turned to look at her. "She actually agreed to put sunscreen on you? Hmm…"

"Oh don't _hmm _anything," Santana walked up, dropping her sunglasses back into place as she was (presumably) glaring at her father, who sat back and crossed his arms, glaring back at her, "It's sick. This whole thing. Sick." A thin eyebrow rose above the sunglasses, "Well? Are we getting on with this day or what? I'm gettin' bored off my ass, which, you know, is _criminal, _given where we's be."

"_Must_ you speak so lazily?" Maria threw out tiredly, rising from the table. "Santana, we're _not _from the," she made the bunny ears motion with her fingers, "'Bad side of town'. Be mature. I know you haven't forgotten how."

Standing up as everyone else did, Rachel pulled her own sunglasses from her bag. "This should be fun," she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes but actually feeling secretly supportive of Santana when she heard the other girl start to bicker with her mother about how she was an adult and _more_ mature than her parents were acting and could speak however the hell she wanted because everyone was being ridiculous and crazy – and really, shouldn't she be able to control _other _things; like, say, maybe her _life_ and this incredibly _fucking_ stupid situation?

Really. If Santana just cleaned up the expletives that dotted her speech, Rachel would better find herself nodding along. It was sad, she mused, preceding her parents out of the restaurant, finding herself squinting even through her sunglasses when the brief shade from the inside of the restaurant turned back into direct sunlight, a gust of ocean-smelling wind breezing past, how easily Santana had fallen into the clutches of the everyday teenage vernacular.

Santana was a stunning young lady. However, remembering back to their conversation in the bathroom where Santana had tried to get Rachel to join her in cursing, Rachel sighed; it was too bad the girl was wasting her beauty and seeming capability of being eloquent and articulate with vulgarity.

Not that she was even _seriously_ entertaining the idea of entering into matrimony with Santana, but Rachel had already added Santana's cursing into the long, long, _long_ column of cons in her _Pros and Cons of Santana Middle Name Unknown Lopez, Head Cheerleader of Their High School and Presumably Law School Bound? Becoming the Spouse of Rachel Barbra Berry, Upcoming Broadway Star and Future Tony Award Recipient _list (under _baffling obsession with breadsticks_ and above _seemingly endless love of arrogant nail filing_).

Suddenly, Santana came stomping up behind her. "Well," she snarled, dark eyes burning into hers, "Hope your breaststroke's good enough to keep you from drowning in the deep end because we're learning how to scuba dive."

Scuba dive? "But that sounds fun," Rachel smiled. It did, even if it _was_ a scheme by their parents.

"Sure," Santana walked forward, crossing her arms, letting out a deep breath of air, "Sure."

Rachel frowned, studying Santana's rigid back. There was something wrong with scuba diving?


End file.
